With A Little Help From A Doctor
by PygmyCritter
Summary: Trevor Stanley has shot a man, but his fiancee, Stacy, insists that his therapist had something to do with it.  Stacy Greene was a nurse who helped Watson when he was injured, and now he wants to return the favor.   I suck at summaries, sorry
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first crack at a Sherlock fanfic. Any comments and/or criticisms, please feel free to let me know. Thanks for reading :D**

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><p>Trevor Stanley crept along the driver side of the car watching the rear door of the small brick house intently. Any minute, Oscar Gillard would come out, emptying the rubbish bin from the kitchen. It was his nightly duty. Trevor had learned this after weeks of watching the older man's every move. It wasn't easy keeping such a close eye on Mr. Gillard, but he had to do it. He knew the danger that his prey posed. Tonight, he would put an end to that danger.<p>

"You left the door open, Oscar." a woman's voice called out. "How many times must I tell you to close it behind you?"

"I'm taking two steps out the bloody door to empty the bin." Oscar replied. "It's not a big..." his words were cut off by a loud bang and he fell to the ground.

"Oscar?" the woman cried as she watched her husband fall. "Oscar!" she ran towards him. "Oh god! Oh god!" she wept as she knelt next him, putting one hand over the small hole in his stomach, fumbling with her phone in her pocket with the other. The phone clattered to the ground twice as she tried to dial 999, trying to get help for the gasping Oscar.

"It's okay now, Gemma." Trevor said as she approached the pair, kneeling next to her. "He won't harm anyone. Not now." he added with a smile.

"Trevor..." she stared at the eerily calm man, her eyes drawn down to the revolver in his hand.

"What happened?" another man's voice called from the bottom of the drive. "We heard..." the man, a neighbor, stopped when he got close enough to see Oscar dying on the ground and a man holding a gun next to him.

It was all such a blur to Gemma as she watched her neighbor struggle with Trevor as she could hear sirens approaching and suddenly she was gently shoved aside so her husband could be seen to. She barely realized it when she was bundled up in a blanket and brought to the hospital in a police car. She had just asked Oscar to take the garbage out like she'd always done over the last 19 years that they had been married. How was she to know that this night he would be killed, and by one of her own patients at that?

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><p>The phone rang for the seventh time and Stacy Greene rolled over and fumbled with the receiver as she clumsily switched on the bedside lamp at the same time.<p>

"Hello?" she croaked, closing her eyes against the sudden bright light of the lamp.

"_Is this Ms. Stacy Greene?_" a woman's voice on the other end inquired.

"Yeah." Stacy mumbled, finding it hard to wake up. Looking at the clock and seeing it was 3:27 in the morning, she looked over and realized her fiance wasn't there. "Trevor?" she called out. "Trev!"

"_Miss, I'm WPC Julie Hibbart and I'm calling about your fiance, a Mr. Trevor Stanley._"

"Has there been some sort of accident?" Stacy asked as she got up and started putting on the blue jeans she had tossed over the back of a nearby chair.

"_He's been arrested, Miss.._."

With a trembling hand Stacy wrote down the details she needed, as best as her tired, frightened mind could handle. "I'm on my way." she muttered as she hung up the phone, grabbed her purse and headed out the door hoping she could catch a cab at this hour.

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><p>Sally Donovan sat down in her chair and prepared to open the sandwich she'd just gotten from the vending machine in the break room. Chicken salad on soggy bread to be washed down with watery tea. Lovely. She'd love to be at home sleeping, but these murderers were very inconsiderate in that they didn't pick decent times to commit their crimes. Of course, if they were considerate, they wouldn't be committing crimes, and then Sally would be out of a job.<p>

"Excuse me." a disheveled woman said as she approached Sally's desk with uncertainty.

"If you've a crime to report..." Sally began as she peeled back the plastic from her sandwich and nearly gagged at the smell that wafted up to her.

"No, I got a call about my fiance." the woman continued, wrinkling her nose at the smell of spoiled mayonnaise. "Trevor Stanley." she prompted when Sally stifled a yawn and took a sip of tea.

"Oh, the nutter who shot the old man." Sally nodded.

"May I see him?" the woman asked, obviously biting back a retort.

"And you are?" Sally asked.

"Stacy Greene." she replied. "His fiancee."

"I think he's being questioned." Sally said. "You can wait if you like, but I've no idea how long it will be."

"How long have they been questioning him?" Stacy asked.

"A few hours now." she replied as she got to her feet. "He's already confessed and he was found with the weapon." she went on. "I'd just go home, get some rest and come back later if you insist on seeing him."

"I want to see him_ now_." Stacy insisted. "I'll wait, but I want to see him as soon as possible."

"Fine." Sally said, shaking her head. "You'll have to have a seat until the interview is done." she explained.

"That's fine with me." Stacy said, crossing her arms over her chest and wandering over to some empty seats.

Sally watched and shook her head. Americans. So bossy and demanding.

"Donovan!" Lestrade called out as he walked to his office, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson following not far behind.

"Why is The Freak here?" she asked as she closed the door.

"I had him look over the Gillard scene." he replied as he took his jacket off and hung it up.

"The murderer was caught at the scene with the weapon." she reminded him. "Not to mention the fact that he confessed."

"I want to be sure there was nothing that we missed." he explained. "Who was that you were talking to when we came in?" he asked as he walked around his desk and sat down.

"Trevor Stanley's fiancee." Sally answered. "American." she whispered.

"What does that have to do with anything?" John asked.

"What?"

"The fact that she's American." he answered. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You know how Americans are." she sighed.

"I worked with some Americans when I was in Afghanistan and most of them were perfectly nice people." he argued.

"Good for you." Sally sneered.

"What does she want?" Lestrade asked, hoping to stop any arguments before they began.

"She wants to see Stanley." she shrugged. "Told her it'd be best if she just took herself off home, but she insists on staying until she sees him."

"She's not lying and offering some ridiculous alibi for him or anything is she?"

"No." she shook her head as she kept an eye on Holmes, his attention wandering around the room. "I think you two can go home now. Get back to your warm little bed." she smiled.

"His fiancee," John started, ignoring Sally's little dig, as he stared out into the larger room. "Is she the brown-haired woman in the orange jacket?"

"Yes." she answered. "Why?"

"She looks familiar." he said as he continued to stare. "What's her name?"

"Stacy something." Sally tried to remember. "Greene I think it was."

"I knew she looked familiar!" John said. "She was a nurse at one of the bases."

"Bully for her." Sally replied. "Was there anything you needed?" she asked Lestrade as John wandered from the room.

"Stacy?" he asked as he approached the tired and scared woman.

She looked pretty much the same as she had the last he'd seen her. She'd put on a bit of weight and let her hair grow out, but otherwise she looked the same.

"Yes?" she asked, looking up. "Are you with the police?" she sounded hopeful.

"No, not really." he replied apologetically. "I just thought..well you look like someone I knew in Afghanistan." he explained. "I might be wrong..."

"I was there." she said after a few seconds, it taking a moment for the comment to register. "You do look like one of the British doctors I met there... umm...John..."

"Watson." he helped her.

"Oh, yes." she smiled weakly. "I remember now." she nodded. "The last time I saw you, you had been shot.." as she glanced towards Lestrade's office where she'd seen Sally disappear into.

"All better now." he smiled. "I would ask how you are, but I was told your fiance was the one who has been arrested for shooting Oscar Gillard."

"Oscar Gillard?" Stacy said, for the first time hearing who it was Trevor had hurt. "Gemma Gillard's husband?"

"Yes." he answered. "You know them?"

"She's Trev's therapist." she sighed. "Now I know that he didn't do this on his own!"

"What do you mean?" he asked, looking over his shoulder and seeing Sherlock approach.

"He started seeing Gillard a few months ago, after his brother died." she explained. "He's a totally different person since he started seeing her. He stopped talking to me, became really distant and...weird."

"And you think Gemma Gillard has something to do with that?" Sherlock asked, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, I do." she nodded, getting to her feet. "I know she does." she started pacing back and forth. "He was never violent. But since he started going to her, that changed." she stopped and started biting her nails. "I asked him to see someone else and he blew up." she began to visibly shake. "She has something to do with this. I swear, she does."

John looked to Sherlock and shrugged. His first instinct was to help her. She had been one of the nurses who looked after him when he'd been hurt, and she'd been a good nurse. He didn't think he could help at all, but maybe he could convince his flatmate to look into Gemma Gillard a bit. Maybe.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock and Watson left Stacy Greene as Lestrade had wanted to speak with her. She said a very quick goodbye to each of them and hurried off. John couldn't help but feel as though he should do something to help her. He was lost in thought as a cab approached and Sherlock climbed inside, not saying a word to him.

"Going to leave me here?" John asked as he climbed in after the taller man, just barely realizing that he was about to be left behind.

"I thought perhaps you' like to be left alone with your thoughts." he stared straight ahead. "You're going to speak now, aren't you?"

"Why ask if you already know the answer?" John countered.

"Do you really feel the need to drag us into this?" Sherlock sighed. "It's such a boring case. We all know he did it."

"But she seems to think his therapist has some hand in it." John reminded him. "Doesn't that interest you in the slightest?"

"The fact that a therapist might perhaps sway a mentally unstable man to do something that he wouldn't do when in his right mind?" Sherlock glanced at him quickly and fixed him with a look John knew all too well. That 'Oh you simple, simple man.' look. It infuriated John. "Come now."

"If you don't want to help, fine." John shrugged. "I'll help her on my own."

Sherlock couldn't stifle a bit of laughter at his friend's words. "Oh, sorry." he cleared his throat. "You were serious just now, weren't you?"

"I'm not an imbecile." John pointed out. "Not to mention that I have been watching and learning from you..."

"What I have is not something that a common man can simply pick up by observing." Sherlock scoffed. "Really, John." he rolled his eyes.

"Then I'll just need to use the half of a wit that I have and figure something out."

"Why are you so keen on helping her?" Sherlock turned and looked at him. "You didn't seem at all attracted to her back there, you barely recognized her actually."

"She took care of me when I was wounded." John shrugged.

"So, you're wanting to spend time on such a mundane case simply because she did her job that she was being paid to do?" he truly did not get what John could be thinking.

"No, not just because she did her job." he sighed. "She took the time with each of us to get to know us a bit. She spoke to us like real people, not like mindless idiots as so many doctors and nurses do with sick or injured people." He was afraid he was guilty of that exact thing. "I was sent home and I didn't speak to her after that until now, but she was good to me and I want to find a way to repay that kindness." he held Sherlock's gaze for a moment. "Do you understand?

Sherlock stared, trying to comprehend John's words and feelings and yet he found himself not quite able to do so. "Shall I just say 'yes'?" he asked. "It would save us both trouble and annoyance."

"Never mind." John turned and looked out the window at the passing traffic, the very little of it there was.

"I suppose it would be something to do until something more interesting and challenging came along." Sherlock conceded.

"I'm not going to treat this as a simple placeholder until something juicy falls into your lap." John looked back at his friend. "If you find a case you like more, then take it, but I'm going to keep with this."

"Suit yourself." it was Sherlock's turn to look out his window as he tried again to understand John's insistence on helping Trevor Stanley and Stacy Greene.

"I'll get hold of Stacy tomorrow." John muttered as the cab came to a stop outside 221 and he climbed out without another word.


End file.
